We live about an hour and a half outside of Miami. Our beach we go to is a friendly family one that reflects the local racial makeup of our area which is brown, black and white. The Canadians love our beach and come in droves, staying at the same inexpensive small hotels and motels and converted apartment buildings year after year. They put Canadian Flags out front, so you can find them easily. The locals are grungy, blue collar, working poor and some of them fish for their supper. Many of the women are well fed on poor diets of pasta and rice and pour out of their bathing suits. I don't get shy there, it's a relaxed unassuming place. I giggle at the pasty Midwestern tourist gawking at us and the parrots perched up in the trees above our heads. Taking pictures to bring home a bit of Florida with them, their pockets holding shells and bits of seaweed and driftwood to set up on the window sill back in Iowa to remind them of the magic of winter barbeques on the sand.
Now South beach is known for its beautiful people. A totally different vibe. International jet setters, Rock Stars, washed out Reality stars, Foot ball players on holiday, Randy aging Lotharios and slick swarthy Mediterraneans speaking Italian, French, Spanish, gays, and lots of Urban dudes and their honey pots mamas and spouting and prancing like roosters on the walk.
Topless is allowed at South Beach, In some of the private beaches, it might just be required. My hunnybunny hubby was hoping to catch himself a sight of some free ranging titties but the day was overcast and breezie and everybody was up under the shades sipping drinks so big you could rinse out your socks in them.
We saw what we came to South Beach for. The odd balls, the people bicycling with snakes, the guy who was plug ugly and dressed in a mini skirt that barely covered his hoo hah and carrying on a loud arguement with himself acting out all the parts. We saw world class titties and ass and men without their shirts oiled up and bouncy.
And pretty boys. The valet parkers every block wave you in with a flick of their wrist. I locked eyes with one perfect creature and he was the prettiest person I had seen in person. Esquisite ruby lips, natural and full in promise. He was a walking soft porn movie in three acts. I wanted to park there and brush his hand passing him a five... slowly, oh so slowly.
Twice around South beach loops watching the people cruise by, to be seen and to watch, I had enough. Hubby went over the dunes to see the beach and came back quickly, no titties to be seen. he came back a bit forlorn. The ocean looks exactly the same as it does near home. Grey, white caps, beige sand. Tall high rises painted pink and teal and orange and blue.
I dunno. It's not a married scene, unless you are looking for a threesome. And the people were not all toned. There was plenty of imported flab and dimples on butts and droopy overflowing bosoms and Mid West Americans fed on corn and beef and chips..
The beautiful people come out at night. We were just day tripping.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Blanket Wars
We've always has a water bed since we were first married. This one we have now is our third one. Our first one was purchased in 1972 from money hubby's dad gave us when we married. It was an early model before they got fancy. It was a bag with water in it. Cold to the touch, nothing insulating it from your skin. If you didn't heat it up, sleeping on it would chill you to the bone. I was suspicious of the heating element and worried about electrical currrents running under our body, but it was amazingly warm when you got into bed. We kept it at body temperture and it ate up the electricity.
It was a full motion bed, so if you got up in the middle of the night, you rocked the other person around. When you got back in, the other person would rise up and sometimes roll out of bed. It was on the floor, no pedestal to raise it, just four bolted together pine boards, with no cross support. It had a half ass liner that fell down and hard corners that knocked into my hubby's ankles when he tried to walk around it. He used to drop down from a standing height and bounce me out of it.
We passed it on to my hubby's little sister and she kept it her teen years till she went off to college. I remember tucking my father in law into it when he came to visit when he came down after a drug induced mania. He slept for a full day like he was in a womb.
Sex on a water bed is easy and relaxed for some positions and impossible and challenging for others. Comical even as we tried to navigate the high seas and keep our balance as we worked our way through the karma sutra. Some things are best done on dry land.
Our next waterbed was a baffled one with channels that kept the waves from reaching titanic proportion. it was more expensive and very complicated to drain and move. The foam baffles had to be pumped completely dry or the thing would weight 600 lbs and it didn't like being set back up. We moved it once and it never recovered from that. The second move to Florida 6 years ago, it broke and ripped, and we filed an insurance claim and got our new one. It looked like a dead walrus on our apartment floor, where it sat discarded for weeks till I managed to get some burly guys to remove it.
This one. This one cost some bucks. We had sold our house and had some bucks to spend. It has a mattress cover zippered around it, and individual cells that fill up with good support. It doesn't wave like the high seas in a hurricane. It sits up from the ground and has covered edges on it. Corner guards to lessen hubbys knocks at midnight. It is a bit easier to put the sheets on. We set it up and moved it twice now. It's a trooper. However it collects lint.
Water beds have walls that keep their shape. Those walls are lined with plastic and the water bed smooshes up against them. Once and a while, one needs to be brave and wipe down the walls, pulling the bed back and exposing the debris that finds itself shed off the people and animals and kids that camp out on the bed, the center of the home, where all family business is conducted. Lost combs, candy wrappers, dental floss, socks, panties, eye glasses, a few squished bugs, lost books and lots and lots of shed skin and hair find their way to the edges and down hidden from the casual vacuum wand. It takes one person to wipe and vacuum and one person to hold back the heavy mattress to expose the sides and bottom. If you try it by yourself, if you are fit enough, using one leg to stand and one leg to nudge back the bed, you can manage. Lose your balance and you end up doing the splits on the bed's wooden edge.
So back to blanket wars.
Waterbeds are tough to make. The last corner of the bottom sheet will not stay tucked in. The three sides are stretched and tucked securely and the last side comes up short. It takes a bit of tugging and pulling to get the last corner even started. For some reason, hubby when he makes the bed, leaves my side the last corner to tuck in.
On bad weeks. I sleep with a sheet that pulls off on my side. When I make the bed, I leave his foot corner for last and he kicks loose sheet around and glares at me. If I am feeling maligned. I short sheet him too, giving him a less than generous top sheet, so his toes stick out.
Well, I fantasize about short sheeting him, but I really don't. I mete out the width evenly. I fear his retaliation. He has huge leverage in his feet and can snag one end of the sheet with his toes and draw them off my shoulders with ease. Off my shoulder, exposing my bottom and he's home free with the sheet wrapped under his body like a malignant buritto, wrapped securely in his ill gotten treasure.
Now that we are in Florida, the blanket wars are more benign. We don't freeze if one gets greedy with the blankets. In Northern climates it woke us up and made us regroup and play fair. Here in the South it's more of a sport.
It was a full motion bed, so if you got up in the middle of the night, you rocked the other person around. When you got back in, the other person would rise up and sometimes roll out of bed. It was on the floor, no pedestal to raise it, just four bolted together pine boards, with no cross support. It had a half ass liner that fell down and hard corners that knocked into my hubby's ankles when he tried to walk around it. He used to drop down from a standing height and bounce me out of it.
We passed it on to my hubby's little sister and she kept it her teen years till she went off to college. I remember tucking my father in law into it when he came to visit when he came down after a drug induced mania. He slept for a full day like he was in a womb.
Sex on a water bed is easy and relaxed for some positions and impossible and challenging for others. Comical even as we tried to navigate the high seas and keep our balance as we worked our way through the karma sutra. Some things are best done on dry land.
Our next waterbed was a baffled one with channels that kept the waves from reaching titanic proportion. it was more expensive and very complicated to drain and move. The foam baffles had to be pumped completely dry or the thing would weight 600 lbs and it didn't like being set back up. We moved it once and it never recovered from that. The second move to Florida 6 years ago, it broke and ripped, and we filed an insurance claim and got our new one. It looked like a dead walrus on our apartment floor, where it sat discarded for weeks till I managed to get some burly guys to remove it.
This one. This one cost some bucks. We had sold our house and had some bucks to spend. It has a mattress cover zippered around it, and individual cells that fill up with good support. It doesn't wave like the high seas in a hurricane. It sits up from the ground and has covered edges on it. Corner guards to lessen hubbys knocks at midnight. It is a bit easier to put the sheets on. We set it up and moved it twice now. It's a trooper. However it collects lint.
Water beds have walls that keep their shape. Those walls are lined with plastic and the water bed smooshes up against them. Once and a while, one needs to be brave and wipe down the walls, pulling the bed back and exposing the debris that finds itself shed off the people and animals and kids that camp out on the bed, the center of the home, where all family business is conducted. Lost combs, candy wrappers, dental floss, socks, panties, eye glasses, a few squished bugs, lost books and lots and lots of shed skin and hair find their way to the edges and down hidden from the casual vacuum wand. It takes one person to wipe and vacuum and one person to hold back the heavy mattress to expose the sides and bottom. If you try it by yourself, if you are fit enough, using one leg to stand and one leg to nudge back the bed, you can manage. Lose your balance and you end up doing the splits on the bed's wooden edge.
So back to blanket wars.
Waterbeds are tough to make. The last corner of the bottom sheet will not stay tucked in. The three sides are stretched and tucked securely and the last side comes up short. It takes a bit of tugging and pulling to get the last corner even started. For some reason, hubby when he makes the bed, leaves my side the last corner to tuck in.
On bad weeks. I sleep with a sheet that pulls off on my side. When I make the bed, I leave his foot corner for last and he kicks loose sheet around and glares at me. If I am feeling maligned. I short sheet him too, giving him a less than generous top sheet, so his toes stick out.
Well, I fantasize about short sheeting him, but I really don't. I mete out the width evenly. I fear his retaliation. He has huge leverage in his feet and can snag one end of the sheet with his toes and draw them off my shoulders with ease. Off my shoulder, exposing my bottom and he's home free with the sheet wrapped under his body like a malignant buritto, wrapped securely in his ill gotten treasure.
Now that we are in Florida, the blanket wars are more benign. We don't freeze if one gets greedy with the blankets. In Northern climates it woke us up and made us regroup and play fair. Here in the South it's more of a sport.
Pillow Wars
I've shared a bed for 40 years now with a sly sneaky rascal. He's a pillow stealer and sheet grabber.
Hubby and I have vastly different body shapes that tangle in the night for space and resources. One of us is very tall and angular 3 inches short of 7 feet and boasting a 9 foot arm reach from tip to tip. That one has knees that are razor sharp when drawn up to gouge the thighs and elbows equally sharp that jab the ribs. The other of us is round and bottom heavy with jiggly mounds and a resource grabbing middle that is soft wherever one might rub against her. Covers are divided and stretched out opposing directions a little more earnestly that average size couples do.
I have prized pillows that I hoard and don't share. They are not interchangable with his motly collection. For some reason none of our pillows are identical. He has a molded medium pillow that is his favorite for his head. I have a soft queen size one for my head topped off with a small support pillow for my neck. My molded pillow is twice as long as his and serves as mediator between my legs. He puts a orphan pillow that needs sewing between his knees and a average unremarkable pillow next to him to cushion his arms.
Before Son stole it. we had a body pillow to support our back. Now that job is vacant with the wind whistling down between us and not enough covers to stop the gap.
Hubby steals my biggest pillow to bolster himself for reading in bed and watching TV. I don't mind if he gets them if he gives them back at lights out. It's the vicious stealing and swapping of the prized neck pillow and head pillow that makes me sore.
Literally. Because if I don't have my right pillows to cradle my head and shoulders I toss and turn and wake up cranky and stiff.
I put my pillows in one set of pillowcases and his in another. They are color coded. I remind him when he has one of mine on his side and he plays innocent. Oh? Is that your pillow? I gave him the benefit of the doubt in our early years, when I had my favorite feather pillow and he has the annoying new fangled foam pillow. We only had two pillows back then. One each and they were matching in size but not in shape and smell.
He hated my feather pillow. I had had it through my wild years and it was a bit old and yellowed from age, and he asserted that it smelled like the inside of a hippies bus. I dunno. I loved it.
One day it disappeared. He looked guilty, but I didn't really suspect him of foul play. Till I checked the trash by the curb and there was a tell tale corner sticking out.
After I calmed down and dried my tears, we went pillow shopping. Not to Good will to get a nice used pillow but to a department store to buy a new one. I strode up and down the aisles looking for a replacement. He helped with suggestions. I put pillow after clean neutral smelling pillow to my face, bothering the watchful sales clerk. I settled on one. A premium goose filled feather pillow, not on sale.
Hubby payed the full price. I decided to stay married to him. When we got home, a few nights went smoothly.
Then he took my feather pillow one night and it started. The Pillow Wars.
We should have bought two identical pillows in the store. We didn't. We have always had the new pillow and the older ones.
He steals the new ones and discards the used up sneaking them over to my side when he makes the bed.
I remake the bed and sort them out. They find their way back to his side in the middle of the night.
The most recent offense was when he swapped out his smallest most pitiful pillow that needed mending with the innards falling out for my head pillow. I slept that way for three nights now, but it ends today. He's pulled off the cases and sheets to wash them and they are lying around unattended.
Today we go pillow shopping. Mhm. It's on!
Hubby and I have vastly different body shapes that tangle in the night for space and resources. One of us is very tall and angular 3 inches short of 7 feet and boasting a 9 foot arm reach from tip to tip. That one has knees that are razor sharp when drawn up to gouge the thighs and elbows equally sharp that jab the ribs. The other of us is round and bottom heavy with jiggly mounds and a resource grabbing middle that is soft wherever one might rub against her. Covers are divided and stretched out opposing directions a little more earnestly that average size couples do.
I have prized pillows that I hoard and don't share. They are not interchangable with his motly collection. For some reason none of our pillows are identical. He has a molded medium pillow that is his favorite for his head. I have a soft queen size one for my head topped off with a small support pillow for my neck. My molded pillow is twice as long as his and serves as mediator between my legs. He puts a orphan pillow that needs sewing between his knees and a average unremarkable pillow next to him to cushion his arms.
Before Son stole it. we had a body pillow to support our back. Now that job is vacant with the wind whistling down between us and not enough covers to stop the gap.
Hubby steals my biggest pillow to bolster himself for reading in bed and watching TV. I don't mind if he gets them if he gives them back at lights out. It's the vicious stealing and swapping of the prized neck pillow and head pillow that makes me sore.
Literally. Because if I don't have my right pillows to cradle my head and shoulders I toss and turn and wake up cranky and stiff.
I put my pillows in one set of pillowcases and his in another. They are color coded. I remind him when he has one of mine on his side and he plays innocent. Oh? Is that your pillow? I gave him the benefit of the doubt in our early years, when I had my favorite feather pillow and he has the annoying new fangled foam pillow. We only had two pillows back then. One each and they were matching in size but not in shape and smell.
He hated my feather pillow. I had had it through my wild years and it was a bit old and yellowed from age, and he asserted that it smelled like the inside of a hippies bus. I dunno. I loved it.
One day it disappeared. He looked guilty, but I didn't really suspect him of foul play. Till I checked the trash by the curb and there was a tell tale corner sticking out.
After I calmed down and dried my tears, we went pillow shopping. Not to Good will to get a nice used pillow but to a department store to buy a new one. I strode up and down the aisles looking for a replacement. He helped with suggestions. I put pillow after clean neutral smelling pillow to my face, bothering the watchful sales clerk. I settled on one. A premium goose filled feather pillow, not on sale.
Hubby payed the full price. I decided to stay married to him. When we got home, a few nights went smoothly.
Then he took my feather pillow one night and it started. The Pillow Wars.
We should have bought two identical pillows in the store. We didn't. We have always had the new pillow and the older ones.
He steals the new ones and discards the used up sneaking them over to my side when he makes the bed.
I remake the bed and sort them out. They find their way back to his side in the middle of the night.
The most recent offense was when he swapped out his smallest most pitiful pillow that needed mending with the innards falling out for my head pillow. I slept that way for three nights now, but it ends today. He's pulled off the cases and sheets to wash them and they are lying around unattended.
Today we go pillow shopping. Mhm. It's on!
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